


The Weirdest Day of Your Life

by nire



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Badass MC, Crack, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person, Randomness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9185546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nire/pseuds/nire
Summary: Or, alternatively, the worst day of your life except you get one billion won in the end as hush money.In which MC is so done with everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't sleep and so I wrote this instead, assisted by a lot of instant coffee. Read with discretion.

Today is not the best day of your life. This morning, after an entire night of stitching people back together at the ER, you came home to the sight of your fiancé balls-deep in your best friend. They were enjoying themselves so much that you had to clear your throat twice to get them to notice you. You packed up all your belongings—not much, you never had much—into a suitcase and promptly stormed off the premises, only to realize much later that you have nowhere to go. The lease to your apartment is under your fiancé’s name, and under normal circumstances you would go to your best friend’s, except of course you no longer have a best friend. Or a fiancé, for that matter. Funny how you’re more hurt by her betrayal than his.

So now you’re homeless and zombie-tired, except you can’t bring yourself to check in to a hotel because that would make it real. Not knowing what to do, you go to your favorite café and buy three espressos. You knock them back one by one like you’re knocking back tequila, trying to ignore the chatter of the girls on the table next to you.

‘Trying’, but they’re really, really loud.

“So like, this guy is so hot and he’s broody and stuff, you know, and I’m like, hell yes, sign me up,” says the overexcited girl with the pink bow.

“Wait, so is this a game or a dating app?” asks her friend, who looks nearly identical to her except for the blue bow.

“Who knows, like they’re too good to be true but at the same time too real to be scripted? Idunno.” Pink holds up her phone to Blue.

Blue whistles. “Hoo boy, that’s hot. What’s the name of the app again? I want in.”

Pink tells Blue the name of the app and you’re just sitting there with three empty espresso shot glasses in front of you, your phone in hand, thinking about how you will not look the app up.

You can never trust your brain when sleep-deprived and flooded with caffeine.

The app is installed before you have enough presence of mind to cancel the download, and you think, it’s not like your day can get any worse so why not? So you open the app and the screen immediately goes black with green code running through it, Matrix-style, and you nearly roll your eyes at how corny the whole thing is.

Then some stranger’s chatting you up. His username is ‘Unknown’ like how some pretentious teens title their emo love poems ‘Untitled’ and he’s trying to convince you into going to some apartment in Gangnam. Your common sense tries to tell you that going to some place just because a stranger tells you to is going to be the literal death of you, but the sleep deprivation—or maybe the caffeine—tells you that why the fuck not, it’s not like the address is in Hooker Hill. Surely sex traffickers will not try to kidnap you in Gangnam?

So you go there, lugging your heavy suitcase, and the apartment’s secured by a password lock. You ring the bell, once, twice, thrice. No one answers. Unknown texts you the password, which he shouldn’t know unless he’s been luring you there to kidnap you and harvest your organs or something.

You run the fuck away. Or actually, you walk as fast as you can with a suitcase slowing you down.

Except the elevator door opens just as you’re about to go into the emergency stairwell and out walks a teen who looks like he walked out of Emo Weekly: pink hair, green eyes, leather jacket that drops off one shoulder where he has an eye tattoo, spiked cuffs, leather collar. You must have stopped in astonishment because somehow he catches your wrist and he’s grinning and oh, shit, he must be Unknown.

Unthinking, you take out the pepper spray you’ve secretly always wanted to use but never had the chance to and spray capsaicin into the general direction of his face.

He screams and lets your hand go.

You use the opportunity to swipe his legs from under him with a swing of your suitcase. He falls ungracefully, lanky limbs flailing, and you take a moment to snap several photographs of him. Then you empty the pepper spray canister onto his face and into his mouth before going down the emergency stairs—you don’t know if he has friends and you’d rather not be caught in an elevator by them—and it’s definitely the most exercise you have had in years. Fourteen floors down with a heavy suitcase takes a toll on your knees, but adrenaline keeps you going.

You don’t stop until you reach the security guard at the apartment lobby. “Some guy—” you wheeze, “tried to trick me into going into apartment 14H.”

And you tell him the story, except you leave out the part where Unknown found you through a dating game app thing, and the security guard doesn’t look like he believes you but he takes out his walkie-talkie anyway.

He exchanges some terse words with who must be another security guard on the other side of the walkie-talkie, and then he approaches you with his hands up, like he’s placating a wild animal.

“Miss,” he says carefully. “There’s no one in the hallway of the 14th floor.”

“What.” It isn’t a question.

“The hallway is empty,” he repeats slowly.

“Check apartment 14H, he has the password for the door.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, here, I’ll give you the password and you can check if he’s in there.”

“No miss, we aren’t authorized to go into the unit unless we have a warrant.”

“You’re not even the police!”

“We can ring the doorbell, if it helps.”

“It really doesn’t,” you say, but he tells his minion to ring the doorbell anyway. Then, a moment later, “No one’s answering the door.”

You’re just about to walk away and go home until you realize you have no home and you nearly got kidnapped and you’re so, so tired, and so you do the one sensible thing anyone in your situation would have done hours ago: you burst into tears.

“Miss,” says the security guard. “Miss, please don’t cry. Listen, I can try to contact the owner of 14H about this?”

You inhale a lot of snot and wipe your eyes. “You can?”

He looks so done, but he steels himself and says, “I’ll try.”

He takes you to the receptionist, who quickly pulls up the records and calls the owner of 14H. “He said he’s going to be here in twenty minutes,” the receptionist says, and you feel like kissing her.

True to his word, the owner of 14H arrives within twenty minutes, a tall guy with sky-blue hair and sunglasses that he doesn’t take off even though he’s indoors.

“My name’s V,” he says, and you have to stop yourself from asking him, what the hell kind of name is V? “Can you tell me what happened? They told me someone tried to lure you into Rika’s apartment?”

“I thought the apartment’s yours.”

V looks rather wistful. “It’s under my name, yes, but my fiancée Rika used to live there.”

Which actually raises even more questions, none of which as important as the matter of your aborted kidnapping. You tell V what happened, and then you pull out the photos you took of Unknown.

V looks surprised, even with the sunglasses hiding half his face. You raise an eyebrow. “You know him?”

“An old acquaintance.”

“Right.”

Honestly, he’s just as shady—no pun intended—as Unknown, so you’re mentally mapping escape routes when he asks, “How much do you want?”

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t have this story or pictures of him on the internet, so how much do you want?”

You did not expect this at all, but then again you can say that about pretty much everything that has happened today. You find yourself asking, “How much are you willing to pay?”

He must have thought about it, because without pause he says, “One billion won.”

“Done,” you say, and next thing you know you’re telling him your account number, he’s transferring exactly that amount to your account, and you’re walking away traumatized but richer.

You spend the rest of the day sleeping in a five-star hotel room, dreaming of a chatroom, a party, and a group of people who seem to love you very much even though you’ve never met them.

You wake up at 3 AM to news that a bomb exploded in unit 14H. There were no casualties.

**Author's Note:**

> Has this been done before? No idea. I've always marvelled at how gullible MC is, just breaking in into an apartment because a random stranger tells her to. Sure, I suspend my disbelief because refusing to cooperate with Unknown gets you a bad ending and so playing along is the only way you get to meet the RFA crew, but at the same time really, MC?


End file.
